AUGUST 17, 1998:
Every year since moving here, my friend Greg and I have discussed
entering the annual Hoop-It-Up 3-on-3 basketball tournament. And
every year we've flaked, opting instead to sit around watching
television and drinking beer--until this year.

Hoop-It-Up is a basketball tournament that tours the country every
year. It's sanctioned by the N.B.A., and winners in the Top Gun
division (the highest) go on to compete against winners from other
cities. The national championships are televised on NBC sports.

Our team registered in the Couch Potato league (the lowest), and
we thought we had a fair chance of winning in our division. The
team--which we named the
"Friendly Goats" after my initial suggestion of the
"Weekly Alibisexuals" was shot down--consisted of myself,
Greg and two of my roommates, Isaac and Andrea (each team is allowed
a substitute). We also brought along a suit-and-tie-wearing coach
to carry a clipboard and scream profanities. None of us had much
formal playing experience, but we could all shoot the ball and
talk shit about our opponents. Two of us even own Air Jordans.
And after we mapped out a few defensive maneuvers (French kissing
after every point, making monkey noises), we figured the Couch
Potato title was as good as clinched.

Our first game (every team is guaranteed at least three games,
no matter how badly they stink) was at 8:30 in the morning on
a Saturday. The night before, one team member--and the coach--stayed
up drinking until dawn. The rest of us subscribed to similar mental
readiness techniques. By game time, we were like coiled springs
of raw athleticism. We were also still kind of drunk.

We strutted onto the court, expecting to greet competitors of
similar ilk. We found three giant androids, effortlessly dunking
and sinking 30-foot baskets. Our attempts at small talk were met
with steely glares. Their team was neither co-ed--as ours was--nor
Couch Potato; something was horribly wrong.

Hoop-It-Up games are won by the first team to reach 16 points,
or by whoever is ahead when 30 minutes have passed. Teams earn
one point per basket; two from outside 20 feet. We lost our first
game 16-1, with Greg scoring our only point. Toward the end, our
opponents' moods improved just enough to point at us and laugh.

Beaten but not broken, we plodded to the court where our next
game would commence. The Friendly Goats were one of nearly 1,500
participating teams--surely we could be paired against players
with similar abilities, players who were better at shuffling cards
and quoting obscure movies than shooting hoops. It was statistically
unlikely that we were the only team who viewed Hoop-It-Up more
as an opportunity for performance art than spirited competition.
But if there were other teams like the Friendly Goats, we never
saw them.

We took an early 5-2 lead in our second game. Something about
the way with which we scuttled randomly around the court confused
our opponents, and we got lucky with a few shots. Soon enough,
the other teamed wised up to our dadaist ball handling and wiped
the court with us. Final score: 16-8. At least they were nice
about it.

The next morning, we finally won a game. It didn't hurt that the
other team failed to show up. Feeling like winners, we proceeded
to the final game of the tournament.

Our opponents in the final game were reminiscent of the first
androids we played, only taller and meaner-looking. They were
registered in the Competitive division--two steps up from Couch
Potato and only one below Top Gun. No Hoop-It-Up representative
we spoke to could explain why this occurred. Naturally, we were
slaughtered, though I did foul a lot and score five points.

Still, even after being soundly beaten by three separate teams,
the experience was some of the most ridiculously good fun we'd
had in years. Despite the tournament's glitches, Albuquerque is
fortunate to be one of the stops on the Hoop-It-Up tour.

Our team will be back next year. There's already talk of monster
masks, superhero costumes and cheerleaders. And maybe next time,
there will be other teams who play as badly as the Friendly Goats.